


Magic Carpet Ride

by blueeyesandpie



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon Universe, Everything is beautiful and only hurts for a little while, Gabriel is shockingly supportive, Human Gabriel (Supernatural), M/M, Making Out, Never gamble with Gabriel, Non-Explicit Sex, Sam Winchester Has Feelings, Sass, Snark, aggressive flirting, for a little while anyway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-09-30 21:44:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17231738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueeyesandpie/pseuds/blueeyesandpie
Summary: After losing a bet with Rowena, a temporarily human Gabe asks Sam to show him the human world...but in the end it's Sam who learns a few things more than he bargained for.Or:The one where Sam really should have known better, but has zero regrets.





	Magic Carpet Ride

**Author's Note:**

> This was written as a gift for [masterpieceofturkeycleverness](https://masterpieceofturkeycleverness.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr, for the Sabriel secret santa exchange.

Rowena insists the spell she cast on Gabriel is temporary just as surely as she insists she had every right to cast it. “We played cards, Samuel. He lost, I won—the rules are simple, aye? The wee man’s just lucky I’m not holding him to the letter of his gamble. Do you know what a witch like myself could  _ do _ with unrestricted access to an archangel’s grace?”

She masks her predatory smile by poking her finger at Gabriel’s nose. “You’ll be good as new tomorrow, poppet. Until then your grace is safe as safe with me.” She taps her pocket with as mile. “Not even God himself could find it where I’m putting it.”  

It’s not the first time Sam’s known more than God, but it’s still just as disconcerting as it was the first time. More so, perhaps, given the circumstance. He doesn’t bother to hide his relief when she takes off a few minutes later; the only one there to see his reaction is Gabriel, after all, and he’s already raiding the fridge with muffled exclamations of excitement or despair.

The angel—human—emerges from the kitchen with a six pack of beer in one hand and half a pie in the other. He drops both on the table, goes back, and returns with a pack of Oreos. “Tell Dean-o I’ll replace them when I get my mojo back,” he says, apparently interpreting Sam’s stink eye as concern for his brother’s snacks.

Sam sits back in his chair and lifts an eyebrow. “You know you’ll need to eat something besides sugar,” he comments. “The human body needs-”

“This isn’t my first rodeo, Samsquatch.”

That’s enough to stop the health speech in its tracks. “You’ve been human  _ before _ ?”

Gabriel hitches one hip up to balance on the edge of the table, then digs an Oreo from the pack. “Sit tight kiddo, papa’s got a story to tell.” He takes a bite, makes a blissed-out face that would be entirely indecent if taken out of context, then waves at Sam with the remainder of the cookie. “You’ve noticed it isn’t easy to bench an archangel. Even dear old Dad struggled with the details until he up and threw Luci in the cage. One way he found was to simply...remove our grace for a time. Shockingly effective.”

“You don’t say,” Sam says, face straight and voice even. 

“Well, fifty percent success rate, anyway. He did it just twice: once to big bro—before he punted him to the armpit of the universe, obviously—and once to me. He up and disappeared after that.” Gabriel pops the rest of the cookie in his mouth and chews happily, as if he didn’t just set off a nuclear bomb inside Sam’s head.

“ _ Why? _ ” The younger Winchester asks after a long pause in which the archangel eats two more cookies and cracks open a beer. “When?” Lucifer’s fall is well known, but there isn’t a breath about discipline when it comes to the biblical lore on Gabriel.

“Boy meets girl, boy likes girl, girl likes boy, insert porno tunes here ‘cause you know what happens next. Boy’s son makes damn sure the world knows Daddy got lucky. Daddy puts his son in timeout for being a shit. Same old story, different playing field. In my defense, it’s his fault I had a bullhorn in the first place.”

If Sam’s brain were a computer, it would be spitting sparks while it processes that information. There’s only one story that comes close to fitting what Gabriel’s telling him and it’s so ridiculous he can’t decide whether to laugh or cry. “Are you talking about the  _ Virgin Mary? _ Chuck -God- took your grace away for- because-” he can’t even find the words. Hunting turns legends on their heads on a regular basis, but this one takes the cake. 

Gabriel smirks at him with the bottle still pressed to his lips. 

“So Jesus-”

“Can we not get into that today, Shaggy?” Gabriel flicks the bottle cap in Sam’s direction and Sam makes a face. “Point is, I was human back when indoor plumbing wasn’t a thing, and shockingly enough it wasn’t a treat. Now I have twenty-four hours to enjoy everything there is to enjoy without having to piss in a bucket, and you bet your sexy ass I’m gonna live it up.”

Sam shifts in his chair, caught between Gabriel’s typical flirtation and a truly unfortunate mental image. He chooses to focus on the part that won’t produce mountains of awkward. “...You lost on purpose.”

“You wound me—would I do such a thing?” Gabriel cocks an eyebrow and smiles at him, all disingenuous innocence and overbearing charm. “Come on, let’s hit a bar or two before Moe and Larry get back.”

“What, you’re human so you want to get  _ drunk? _ ” 

“I want to party, amigo, whatever that may entail. No way I’m sitting here reading,” Gabriel waves a disdainful hand at the books in front of Sam, “when there’s so much to see out there. Unknot your knickers and show me your world, Winchester.”

Sam looks at Gabriel, then at the pile of research on the table, then back at Gabriel. If he’s going to be honest with himself, the lore is boring, he hasn’t found a whiff of a case in five days, and maybe...just maybe...he’s a little curious what Gabe has in mind. 

“Would you prefer a dinglehopper or a magic carpet, princess?” he asks in a teasing tone as he stands. 

“That’s the spirit, Sammy!”

-

They don’t have time to hit Vegas and Oklahoma isn’t Sam’s favorite place in the universe, so Gabriel insists they head for Kansas City. 

In their time on the road Sam learns that without the ability to snap his fingers and make life hell on a whim, Gabriel is surprisingly good company. He’s just as talented at making false realities with words as he is with his grace, and all his stories are laced with humor that creeps up like a riptide to pull Sam into unexpected gales of laughter. 

Sam’s loosened up enough to share his own stories and jokes an hour into the drive, and Gabriel laughs at them like they’re actually funny.  “Y’know, you and Dean-o always made it seem like Hunting’s all doom and gloom, but there’s some funny shit in there,” Gabriel remarks as they walk out of a Gas-n-Sip, snacks in hand. “Write a memoir. I’d read it.”

“Don’t need one,” Sam responds with a grimace. “There’s more than enough of our story on shelves already.”

“Yeah, but that’s Dad’s perspective, and that’s just weird. I’d rather hear yours.” Gabriel winks at him while tearing open a pack of Red Vines with his teeth, and Sam closes his own mouth with an audible click. Something warm and fuzzy blossoms inside him at the comment and he doesn’t know how to deal with that atall. He makes for the car as fast as he can before his reaction shows on his face. 

“Hey, let me drive,” Gabe calls, hurrying to catch up. 

“Can you even see over the steering wheel?” Sam teases, cocking an eyebrow and pretending to look the archangel over.

“I’ll push the pedals, you steer the car,” his companion deadpans in response and Sam laughs, head thrown back and mouth wide. 

It turns out Gabriel can see just fine, though he makes a number of comments about “ridiculous longshanks” and “string beans” while adjusting the seat and mirrors. Sam just rolls his eyes and digs his trail mix out of the bag of sweets Gabe had purchased.

Sam’s used to traffic laws being little more than an optional courtesy, but Dean’s always had at least a passing desire to protect Baby from damage. In a junk car with an archangel at the wheel there’s no such limitation. Sam holds on for dear life as they weave through traffic, wondering if his companion is trying to make up for his lack of wings by driving like an absolute maniac. 

Eventually they’re sailing along the highway alone, however, listening to some peppy pop tune on the radio and playing road trip bingo. Time flies as fast as they do, and before Sam realizes it, they’re passing the “Welcome to Kansas City” sign and it’s time to find a place to stay.

“Seems a shame to waste time sleeping,” Gabriel complains as he parks in front of a strip motel that could be a carbon copy of any place Sam’s stayed at in the last fourteen years, minus the Bunker.

“Too bad. Your body’s gonna need it.” 

“Why? I’ll be an angel again by tomorrow afternoon.” 

“Fine.  _ I _ will need sleep, and I’m not doing that in a fucking car if I don’t have to,” Sam says. 

Gabriel twists to inspect the backseat thoughtfully. “Point made. While I’m all about fitting big things into small places, there are limits to that fantasy.” 

“Wouldn’t be the first time you’ve made advances on a car,” Sam mutters without thinking.

“Ah yes, true, but that car was  _ you _ . There’s a difference, Sam-pei.” Gabriel grins at him, taps him on the nose, and gets out before the Hunter can think of a response past the rushing in his ears. 

Gabe’s flirting has dialed up over the last few hours, sure, but Sam had written it off as part of the guy’s personality. This time, however….this time is different and Sam doesn’t know how to respond. Perhaps more accurately, he’s surprised his response isn’t an immediate ‘get the hell away from me.’ It should be, it really should, but it’s so easy to forget the guy who laughed at his jokes and shoplifted granola bars as a surprise is the same one who put him through hell in the Mystery Spot.

He opts to ignore the entire exchange in favor of booking a room and getting Gabriel out of the lobby before he swipes all the candy from the dish on the counter.

Despite the metaphoric elephant that looms between them, dinner is shockingly easy. They get food at a diner that has ‘Dean’ written all over it, and spend the wait time looking up Kansas City nightlife. To Sam’s surprise, Gabe picks a number of pool halls and dive bars within a walkable distance rather than honing in on the clubs downtown.

“Been there, done that,” Gabriel says with a dismissive wave. “I can play dress up any time. I want to see the world as a human would. As  _ you _ do.” Again, that pointed interest, complete with hazel-gold eyes fixed on his face. 

Sam rolls his fingers open and closed beneath the table, uncertain how to respond. Their waitress arrives, a benevolent angel of mercy bearing food, and he digs in with a heartfelt “thank you” that has more to do with the distraction than the actual meal. 

“This is delicious,” Gabriel comments. He’s eating pancakes with too much syrup and Sam’s lips twitch up. 

“You say that like you haven’t tasted them before,” Sam says. 

“I heard Captain McFrowny Pants said eating is like tasting molecules,” Gabe responds, staring at a bite of pancake like it might contain the secrets of the universe. “It’s not a bad analogy. I think archangels get it a little better—at least I  _ can  _ like sex and candy if I focus—but senses are still strange when filtered through grace. Without that I don’t have all the distraction and I can just. Enjoy.” It’s the most serious Gabe’s been about his transformation since it happened, and Sam’s caught between scholarly curiosity and something resembling genuine care as he listens.

“It’s like...radio static,” Sam says with dawning comprehension when Gabriel goes quiet. “Your grace gives you access to so much information it’s hard to tell what’s important.”

“Yes! That, exactly.” Gabriel snaps his fingers in approval, then pops a bite of pancake in his mouth with an appreciative moan that makes Sam reflexively curl his hands into his pants leg.

“Shall we?” The archangel asks a few minutes later, jerking his chin at the door. If he’s aware of the awkward silence that had descended, he doesn’t show it.

“Yeah. Yeah, hold on a sec.” Sam digs in his wallet and drops some bills on the table. “Let’s go.”

He needs to get drunk, and it needs to happen yesterday. While he’s all for talking through feelings in a general sense, there are some things he just doesn’t want to spend too much time thinking about. The fact that his stomach flutters when he gets a certain look from a short guy with a sarcastic smile and the power to turn the world on its head is definitely one of those things.

An hour and five shots later, Sam’s watching Gabriel feeding ill-gotten cash into a video poker machine and feeling only marginally less tense. The machine emits a mechanical jingle as colors blink and images change, and then it flashes “Grand Prize!” at them as 8-bit fireworks explode in every direction.

“Beginner’s luck,” Gabe says with a sly wink as he goes to the bar to cash in the ticket the machine spits out. 

“ _ How did you cheat? _ ” Sam demands as they escape with three thousand dollars and a coupon for a free meal. “It’s a preset algorithm!”

“That glass house is looking pretty fragile there, mister “I-have-ten-stolen-cards-in-my-wallet,” Gabriel replies. 

Sam purposely stumbles into him and they end up bickering and play wrestling as they walk down the street, both words and physical contact coming easier with a little liquid courage. Then Sam gets Gabe’s arm twisted behind his back and pulls upward. He realizes too late that they’re standing chest to chest in the middle of the sidewalk and the archangel’s face is very, very close, pupils blown wide as they study Sam’s mouth.

They both inhale at the same time, frozen in place as tension coils between them. Then Sam carefully releases the angel, stepping away with an awkward laugh. “Got a little rough,” he says, “sorry.”

Gabriel mutters something that might be “kinda liked it,” and Sam walks away fast, face hot.

_ Dean’s the one who falls for angels _ , he thinks as he yanks on the door to the next bar.  _ Not me. Dean.  _ All angels are trouble, even if Cas is basically part of the family now. Gabriel’s even higher on the danger scale, but even as Sam downs three shots of tequila in rapid succession, he can’t get golden eyes out of his head.

Things get blurry after that. Sam’s vaguely aware that Gabe matches him shot for shot, that they sing at least two songs in a karaoke bar that has seen better days, and that it’s cold as shit outside, but the next time things truly snap into focus, he’s leaning over a pool table in some nondescript dive he can’t remember the name of. 

Sam’s studied physics and learned to hustle with the best of them. Even drunk he can play circles around anyone in that bar, and pretty soon he’s got an audience and a stack of cash to match Gabriel’s. Abruptly Gabe’s there, those lips turned up in a devious smile.  “My turn,” he says. “You win, I buy you a drink.”

“Sure,” Sam says. It’s not much of a bet because Gabe’s been buying since he won the lottery, but it hardly matters. They’re here to have fun, not squabble over wagers. 

Gabe puts up a good fight, but Sam gets him in the end. He pokes fun at the angel as they head for the bar, and Gabe pokes right back, sly and snarky as always.

“Again,” Sam suggests after draining his beer. 

“Only if the winner gets a kiss,” Gabe responds as easily as discussing the weather.

Sam stumbles over his own feet as the words register. Then he considers the growing pile of cash on the corner of the table and the drink he just won and he grins with drunken assurance.  “Bring it, short stack,” he says with a laugh. Gabriel gives him a heated look that sends tingles to his toes, and starts pushing quarters into the table.

The angel kicks the Hunter’s ass so quickly and so thoroughly that Sam barely tracks what’s happening. The shorter man pots the 8-ball with lazy efficiency at the end, then turns to Sam with one eyebrow cocked. “Beginner’s luck,” he drawls in a downright ornery tone as he flutters his fingers.

“Son of a bitch,” Sam says, dropping the cue on the table. He should have known better than to gamble with Gabriel. He really should. “When will I learn?”

“Probably never.”

Gabe hops up to sit on the edge of the pool table, legs spread and feet swinging as he looks Sam over. His gaze turns from mocking, to serious, to  _ interested _ and suddenly Sam’s drowning, barely able to breathe through the weight of expectation in the air. He glances around the bar reflexively, scanning its occupants for trouble. Most of their audience disappeared when he went for a drink, but a few who heard the wager are still there and clearly curious about the outcome.  _ Fuck _ . 

“You aren’t gonna welch on me, are ya Winchester?” Gabriel asks, cocking his head and leaning back on his palms. “Didn’t think Crowley was serious when-”

Sam grabs the archangel by the chin and smashes their lips together, effectively shutting him up for the first time since they met. It’s meant to be short and rough, the bare minimum to honor the bet, but suddenly Sam’s heart is pounding so hard he can barely breathe and there’s air rushing around him to muffle all sound and time simply  _ stops _ . 

Gabriel’s mouth opens against his, his head shifts to the side for better access, and holy shit they’re actually  _ kissing _ , the last eight hours of tension unraveling like a runaway spring. Sam’s lost in scent and taste and touch and completely oblivious to their environment. The kiss is better than any he’s had in years, better than he could ever have imagined, even, and he doesn’t know why he waited so long to learn that fact. 

His fingers slide up Gabe’s jaw with delicate purpose, tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck and  _ tugging _ . Gabriel makes a sound somewhere between a yelp and a moan that effectively razes the walls of Sam’s self-restraint. Sam slips his other arm around the angel’s waist in response, palm sliding up his back to press them closer together. He feels fingers curling into his sides and his teeth nip into Gabriel’s lip,  _ hard _ . He wants more, more,  _ more _ —

“Get a fucking room,” a gruff voice interrupts, and merciless reality crashes through the storm building between them. Sam starts back, face burning, to find the bartender staring at them with his fists on his hips. “Don’t care what you do, just don’t do it here.”

“That. Sounds like a great plan,” Gabriel breathes, voice unsteady yet somehow beyond satisfied, like a cat with milk on its whiskers. His mouth is half open, his eyes wide, and, Sam realizes with a start, he’s pulling his hands out of the back of Sam’s pants.

_This is a bad idea_ , Sam thinks, but the thought is gone as fast it arrives. Gabe’s already pulling him toward the door and the Hunter can’t find it in him to resist temptation. Their tab’s still open and there’s cash on the table and none of that matters because Sam fucking Winchester is going to show an archangel the best part of being human tonight. 

It’s a freaking miracle they make it back to their room without getting arrested for public indecency.

-

“And how was it being human then?” Rowena asks, peering up beneath long eyelashes as she digs in her purse. 

Gabe gives a short whistle of appreciation from where he’s slouched against the door. His clothes are rumpled, his hair a mess; even starring in a porno he’s never looked so debauched. Sam can’t stop sneaking glances, because he knows exactly which folds cover which marks, and the thought has irrational heat simmering in his chest. 

“Ten of ten, would recommend,” Gabe says cheerfully, but his eyes are fixed on Sam as he speaks, and Sam knows he’s not talking about being human.

“Twas that good, was it?” The witch’s gaze shifts to where Sam’s sprawled in a chair, feet propped up in another. The hunter drums his fingers on the table and studies the ceiling rather than respond. “My, my, is that the way it is, then? The tales these walls could tell!”

“Shut up, Rowena,” Sam snaps, and realizes too late that he really shouldn’t have said anything at all. 

“I suppose Dean should be grateful to be away. We wouldn’t want to traumatize the wee innocent boy with any...shenanigans.” Gabriel snorts a laugh and Sam can’t help that his lips twitch up a little as well. 

After a moment more of looking between them with disconcerting intent, Rowena pulls a familiar vial from her purse and holds it up. Abruptly there’s blue light dancing on every surface, visible even when Sam closes his eyes. The archangel’s grace is a beacon even in such a tiny container, and Sam hates it with every fiber of his being.

He doesn’t cover his eyes, however. He doesn’t even  _ twitch _ as he watches Gabriel snatch the vial up and inhale the light. The glow expands to a near-blinding aura, the dark imprint of wings stark against the wall behind, then contracts to leave the room in relative shadow once more. The only hint of any change is a familiar glint in the archangel’s eyes when he looks at Sam. 

It hurts to see, to know that whatever passed between them the night before is now reduced to so much noise in the angel’s mind, but Sam forces himself to look back until Gabe’s gaze shifts. 

“Well. It’s been educational, but I think I’ll take a hard pass on gambling with witches for another few millennia,” Gabriel says. He gives an abortive salute to Rowena and a smile and a bow to Sam. “Adios, muchacho.” He disappears without another word, and Sam’s feet fall to the floor as his body relaxes unbidden. 

Rowena gives him a knowing look. “You may as well try to pin the wind as that one, Sam Winchester,” she says. “I’ll be in the neighborhood if you need...a shoulder.” She sweeps out, leaving Sam alone in a Bunker that abruptly seems entirely too large and empty for his current state of mind.

After some hours of trying and failing to get back into his prior research, Sam heads for the kitchen. He tries to pretend he’s not baking because the smell reminds him of Gabriel, but given he rarely bakes at the best of times, and the only person he has to deceive is himself, the effort is a waste of time. 

He’s just crouching to pull a tray from the oven when there’s the faint rustle of feathers behind him and a light breeze, quickly followed by lips on the back of his neck and fingers in his hair. Sam reaches for his boot knife and nearly puts it in his companion sight unseen before realizing who it has to be. Then he relaxes back against a body he’s now intimately acquainted with, hands sliding back to pull him closer.

“I’m not done with that magic carpet of yours,” Gabriel says into his ear. “What do you say we blow this Popsicle stand, hot stuff?”


End file.
